Disposition of Remains Read Online Free PDF Page B

although I was a little curious as to whether he would expose boxers or briefs. Oh, GOD, I thought, what if he goes commando?
    My head was swimming. I had to stop myself from staring. I was relieved when Wilbur climbed into his sleeping bag, squirmed about for a minute, then cast his shorts aside, keeping his nakedness to himself. He ga zed in my direction as if he expected a show. All I could do was shake my head as I lay down on the couch fully dressed, and turned my back to him. I mummified myself in the knitted grandma-style afghan that I’d snatched from the back of the couch.
    If I weren’t entirely focused on my impending doom, I may have been attracted to Wilbur, with his good looks, his charm, and his appallingly perfect body. But as it turned out, all those traits were working against him. In fact, I found them to be greatly offensive. I’d seen it all before. Evan started out the same way: handsome, suave, and charismatic. He doted on me while I was grieving the loss of my mother, and then screwed with my mind, eventually becoming my captor. Evan had lost his appeal, just as I was sure Wilbur would if I had given him the chance.

CHAPTER 5
     
    For weeks, I’d been having crazy dreams. I dream ed every time I fell asleep, which was often. I’d been in a permanent walking-zombie state—so tired that every time I sat down for too long, I would slip into dreamland. I’d nodded off several times while Evan was having sex with me, although he hadn’t curled my toes in years. My somnambulistic state was the first thing that alerted me that there might be a problem with my health.
    I was in the middle of the most vivid dream. I was performing some sort of traditional folk dance with “my tribe” (whom I’d never met)—flailing my arms in a crazy unsynchronized manner and singing an incomprehensible song. Apparently, this was my subconscious mind’s archaic notion of what Native Americans do for fun. Wilbur was in attendance, with his shirt off, of course. I felt a thrill course through my body as he approached me. He placed a hand on my shoulder, leaned in closely, and gently whispered…
    “Stacia, coffee’s ready.”
    I sprung from the couch, still disoriented.
    “Mother of God!” I screamed, frantically tugging the covers over my fully clothed chest.
    “No, it’s just me…Wilbur,” he said with a chuckle. “Must have been some dream I interrupted.”
    Under normal circumstances I might have seen the humor in it, but then the nausea hit me like a dam about to burst. I looked at Wilbur, then at the bathroom door. Determined not to repeat my barf-on-Misty’s-chest debacle, I made a run for it, hand over mouth.
    When I was finished vomiting I was so mortified that I didn’t want to emerge from the bathroom. I heard Misty warn Wilbur not to take it personally. She explained that it must be how I expressed endearment.
    “Are you okay?” Misty called from outside the bathroom door.
    “Fine,” I croaked. “I’m just gonna take a quick shower. And I’ll pass on the coffee.”
    I was far from fine. My body was rebelling against me and my brain was fantasizing like some crazed teenage girl.
    After showering, I managed to pull myself together. I made some dry toast with Paul’s ancient rust-encrusted toaster, and began to help carry all sorts of camping gear to Paul’s truck.
    “I packed you a sleeping bag and some extra clothes,” Misty informed me. “I think we’re about the same size.”
    I glanced at her breasts and then down at my own—not a chance, but I was grateful anyway. I had no clue what I was getting into. I didn’t own anything resembling camping attire. I’d never even slept on a couch, let alone in a sleeping bag under the stars in the great outdoors. I had a vision of that smirking , smug coyote bastard from the road to Vegas lurking around my tent.
    I was reassured during the thirty-minute drive to our destination. Each minute the landscape became exponentially more